Adaptation
by Certh
Summary: Part I of the Finding Balance series. Coping with changes requires adapting to new situations.
1. Chapter 1

**Adaptation  
-**

Part I of the series titled _Finding Balance _

* * *

Author's note: This fanfic is the first in a series I had begun posting here around 2006. The series has since undergone extensive revision and the structure has changed so that some stand-alone stories could merge and form longer narratives.

Disclaimer: I only own the storylines and those characters for whom there is no information on Marvel's website.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The fifteen-year-old girl stayed seated on the monochrome carpet, cradling her ankle after her rather undignified fall. Fine strands of rich mahogany-chestnut hair framed her pale face as she bent down to examine her bare foot, the anomalous landing causing them to be released from the claw clip that held them firmly in place. Ignoring the stray hair, she touched the hurt ankle gingerly, letting out a frustrated breath.

"You're not supposed to fall, Morgan."

The male voice that addressed her was strict, emphasising each word and making the teenager let her hand rest idly on the leg she was massaging. Deep brown eyes found her coach. He was a man in his early fifties, a roman nose and slightly angular jaw sharpening his features.

"I know that," the girl acknowledged curtly as she pushed herself up from the floor and averted her gaze from the critical charcoal-blue stare, subtle traces of a lilting accent brushing her self-irritated tone.

"Good." Mark Trevorn pursed his lips in a thin line and turned on his heel without sparing a glance behind him, heading across the twelve-hundred-square-foot facility to where one of his male gymnasts was practising on the still rings.

The teenager drew herself to her full height, smoothing her sleeveless top and shorts before flexing one foot and pressing downwards to ease her muscles. Standing at almost five-feet-four, she wasn't considered tall, but was graced with the lean, toned physique and elegant lines gained after systematic practice.

"I don't see you moving, Hemmett."

At the head coach's warning the young gymnast walked to the white line marking the border of the floor, rearranging her hair. Checking her wrist supports, she schooled her thoughts and visualised the skill she was to perform. After a quick breath, she broke off at a run, launching into an accelerated cartwheel and snapping her legs together in mid-tumble just as her hands touched the floor. Feet following suit, she pushed off, her body arching through the air as the moved backward to land on her hands. Using her momentum, she propelled herself into an arch once more, establishing an ever-so-brief contact with the plywood surface before she was airborne again. Arms tucked into her ribcage and wrists crossing across her chest, she kept her body straight and went into a back somersault, executing two and a half pivots around her midline axis as she did. She landed on both feet with a thud, a tremor shooting through her dangerously before she stood straight again, arms raised above her head.

xxxx

The assistant coach and resident choreographer stood by the balance beams, watching as the slight Chinese-Canadian's feet left the apparatus. Jun-Mei Yang, clad in a yellow crop top and white shorts, lunged into a Back Handspring, jumping into a Layout Step-Out the moment her feet touched the beam, legs stretching into an aerial split and then meeting the hard surface. She pushed off one last time, knees pulled into her chest, her body flipping through the air before her legs straightened to make contact with the beam. Not sticking the landing, she wobbled on one foot as she attempted to keep her balance and fell to kneel onto the mats below.

"Don't lift your head backwards when you jump," the slim female coach offered as the fourteen-year-old got up. Her gymnast mounting the apparatus again, Alina Sosna tucked a strand of walnut-brown hair behind one ear and turned her attention to the others, her slightly slanted dark eyes critical.

On the balance beam behind her, blonde sixteen-year-old Ashley Warren practised her dance elements and Korbut flips, working them to perfection. The girl's sequence of skills was flawless as she twirled and swung down gracefully to straddle the narrow apparatus. Pleased, the coach walked down to the last two beams.

Latino-Canadian Chloe Vidal showed little weakness in maintaining her balance as she executed a Tour Jeté, leaping forward from one foot, the other immediately kicking up as she made a half twist in the air, and landing on the previously elevated leg as the other rose high. The slight vibration that travelled up her spine at the end was barely perceptible, and the caramel-skinned fifteen-year-old went on to a different skill.

By her, Morgan made a seamless transition between a Front Tuck and a Wolf Jump, bounding backwards and completing a one-fourth turn before her hands met the beam in a Side Handstand. She held the pose for a few seconds and then brought her legs down to a straddle, shifting her weight on one arm as the other lifted off until it was parallel to the beam.

xxxx

The door to the girls locker room shut with a thud as a petite girl stepped out, adjusting the strap of her holdall bag on her shoulder.

"Montréal, here we come!" From within the room, auburn-haired Claire Graham pulled her now towel-dried hair up in a ponytail, turning with a flair and a radiating beam from the sinks that lined one wall. From the benches to her right, Chloe rolled her eyes skyward at her teammate and friend's hyper outburst. It had been two weeks since the head coach announced the gymnasts going to the Invitational in Quebec, but for Claire that initial excitement hadn't faded off yet.

Next to Chloe, wrapping medical gauze tightly around a swollen red ankle and foot, Ashley chuckled at the bubbly fifteen-year-old's enthusiasm. "The Invitational's three weeks away, Claire," she pointed out pragmatically, pulling on a T-shirt and holding her pin-straight hair away from her neck before letting it fall to her back.

By her, Holly Matthews let out a wistful sigh as she stuffed her wristband into her gym bag, something that didn't go unnoticed by the bubbly redhead.

"What are you so down about? You just went to Worlds," Claire remarked quickly, a note of slight envy tinting her words. At the age of seventeen, Holly was the oldest of the group, ranking in both the World Championships and the Commonwealth Games.

"Yeah, but..." the long-haired brunette began, "the Parc Jean-Drapeau is in Montréal. And the beach..." Complete with its filtered-water beach, outdoor pools and offering activities such as cycling and inline skating, the urban park located in the middle of the St Lawrence river was one of Holly's reasons for wanting to go to Quebec's largest city. Even though she probably wouldn't have had much time to visit it if she was there for a competition.

"In that case, you shouldn't have sprained your ankle," Claire quipped, receiving a wordless exclamation of incredulity from a stunned Holly. The girl had had the misfortune of landing rather badly while dismounting from the uneven bars, resulting in having her leg put in a cast and consequently not making the team that was to be sent to the competition. "But, you can always help yourself to a dive in the lake," the hazel-eyed teenager continued her jesting. "And it's still September, so it shouldn't be that cold yet," she finished with an innocent look. Holly pulled a face at her and the conversation was put to an end when the auburn-haired gymnast merely offered a quick upturn of her lips.

"Don't worry, Holls. It's not like it's Nationals or anything," Jun turned to her as she joined them from the showers, understanding her friend's dejected feelings at not being able to represent the gym at the oncoming meet. "Plus, it could be worse," she added, going in search for a top. "Imagine having to worry about staying up late on Sunday night to study for a chemistry test due Monday." She pointedly whipped her head towards the direction of Ashley and Morgan, flashing them a teasing smile and batting her eyelashes.

"Ugh, don't remind me." Ashley's instant reply to the black-haired girl was a grimace of desperation and a huff, making her feelings on the matter clear. The Invitational was going to be a three-day event, stretching over Friday and the weekend, and for some Monday was a school day.

"You should reconsider home-schooling," Claire suggested seriously.

Across from them, Morgan glanced at the redhead pensively as she pulled on a loose-fitting blouse over her sports bra, taking a moment to think. Out of the six of them, only she and Ashley actually attended high school. Admittedly, it would have been much easier if they were home-schooled like the rest, leaving them with more time to practise. They wouldn't have to rush from school to the gym and their timetable would have been more balanced. Trying to juggle the two was hard work, but personally Morgan considered it gave her a chance for a normal life outside gymnastics. And that was why she stuck to that; the thrill it brought with it was oddly satisfying.

"Hey, are we still going to D.J.'s?" the curly-haired Chloe asked after a considerable moment of silence, subtly reminding them that the clock was ticking. D.J.'s grill and salad bar was a small, cosy place not far from the gym, a nice hang-out after practice, and the girls had become regulars.

Morgan snapped out of her thoughts. "I promised I'd take Gioia for an early walk, so I'll pass," she answered amidst the simultaneous confirmations that were provided from her teammates.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Rain clouds clogged the sky as the fifteen-year-old walked alone down the road, fingers tight around the straps of her slate-blue gym bag. Narrow beams of late afternoon sunlight infrequently managed to penetrate the thick barrier that hindered them, sending small parts of the houses lining the street into luminosity before shadows claimed them again. The ominous heavens overhead promised rain and the temperature was suitably low.

The gymnast looked up at the gathering of clouds, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth as the refreshing breeze that swept the area cooled her face.

Turning her attention to the road again after a few moments of staring toward the quickly fading light, little white spots suddenly danced and flickered in front of her eyes. She stopped in her tracks and staggered a step, her vision clouding completely for mere fractions of a second and sending a brief wave of panic up her spine.

She shook her head vigorously, trying to regain her senses and boldly attempted some steps forward. The rushed movement sent a twinge of pain through her head, an early warning that she should expect a headache. Morgan stumbled, flinging an arm out to seek support on the nearest solid object – the bark of a tree. She pressed against it and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. It had been like that almost all day, she recalled: she had woken up with a pounding migraine which didn't go away even after breakfast and had succeeded in keeping her unfocused all the long minutes through first and second period at school. After that, it had pretty much subsided, being only a minor, but still annoying, discomfort.

"Hey, Morgan."

The cheery voice by her side made her eyes drift open.

"Hi, Judd." The response to the blond teenager's greeting was slow and flat, fatigue draining the words of all liveliness. Morgan's eyes narrowed, the jabbing throb against her skull resuming.

The boy's lopsided grin faded as he saw her face gradually twist in anguish. A look of worry softened his features. "You OK?"

"No." Morgan's reply was level and, to her dismay, sounded rude; the girl's eyelids sealed tightly as the single word came out, pain contorting her features once more. Her face scrunched into a grimace. She consciously staggered a step backwards, following the sole clear thought in the hazy whirlwind of her mind that told her to support herself against the wall behind her.

Judd Collins stepped closer, eyebrows knitting together.

Morgan stretched out an arm behind her and groped blindly for the wall, lowering herself to the flagstones. The holdall she was still gripping hit the pavement abruptly and her hands flew to her forehead, fingers pressing hard against her skin. A few ragged breaths later, she allowed herself to open her eyes and lower her arms. Through the dizziness that still made her thoughts swirl, she saw Judd standing in front of her, one arm reaching out to touch her. She watched him with unfocused eyes.

The teenager's hand stopped abruptly mid-distance and was drawn back hastily as if burned. Judd stared at her with a frown, then turned on his heel and walked away.

Morgan just sat with her back against the wall, a disoriented expression on her face. As the dizziness gradually lifted, a hand rose to absently brush a wayward strand of hair behind one ear. She wondered at the lingering sensation in her stomach, the fading coolness that had pooled there only moments before and was now dissipating. Her unconscious mind then registered that the disabling headache had vanished and, against her will, her heart began pounding. _No_, she told herself, it was her tiredness that was making her think absurd things. As seconds ticked by, the irrational fear began ebbing away and calmness began to warm her. Then she froze suddenly, mortification painting her features.

She remained seated for several long minutes, her laboured breathing gradually easing. With slow, deliberate movements, she finally got to her feet, collecting her gym bag and starting to walk sluggishly away.

xxxx

It was much darker when she reached south Rosedale. The first cluster of stars sprinkled the skies above, bringing with it a pleasantly cool draught of air and a soothingly calm night. Morgan rounded a bend into Park Road and caught glimpse of her destination.

Perched firmly on the flat expanse of a small rise, the place she called home was a light-brick, detached house, two storeys tall, with a side-gabled sloping roof and compact screened front porch. The garden that stretched before it, slanting down to meet the edge of the low brick wall rising up from the pavement, was meticulously cared for – the flowerbeds clean of weeds, filled with a colourful variety of snapdragons, dahlias, hydrangeas and crocuses.

Climbing the steps that led up the gentle incline, the girl made her way to the backyard, where the covered patio connected to the kitchen. Entering through the narrow French doors, she offered a quick, 'Hey, Alice,' to the woman who busied herself with tidying the cupboards and crossed the room to sprint up the stairs in the foyer.

Overlooking the garden, her bedroom with its pastel corn-yellow walls was one of the warmest rooms in the house, facing south. Near the door was the poster of a dark-blonde gymnast in a black-and-yellow leotard in an impeccable Ring Leap: legs separated in a one-hundred-and-eighty degree split, the back leg bent at the knee, arms extended to the sides, head tipped backwards. A colourful copy of the Periodic Table of Elements featured on the opposite wall, while next to it was another, this one presenting Rutherford's Atomic Model.

Nearby, postcards portraying both known and less-celebrated sights of European capitals – Rome, Paris, Amsterdam, Vienna, Prague, Berlin – were stuck to the vertical surface, almost blending with clippings of paper, which on closer inspection were revealed to feature various lyrics from rock songs. A simple night-table with an orange-and-red lava lamp stood to the left of the bed. Dozens of glow-in-the-dark stars were glued to the ceiling, forming various galaxies and constellations and vouching for a beautiful effect at night.

The laminate hardwood floor was bare except for a rectangular rug at the foot of the bed decorated with blocks of leaf and spiral patterns in earthly hues; a lime green bean bag chair was pushed out of the way into a corner.

Discarding the holdall roughly on the floor, Morgan strode across the tidy perfection of the room to get to the desk by the window. She rummaged in the drawers, flicking impatiently through an assortment of books. The breath she hadn't known she had been holding was released at the sight of the purple, paperback tome, and she tapped a finger on its cover before tossing it onto the floral-patterned duvet that covered her bed. She crossed to the other side of the room, flinging the door of her wardrobe open and fishing out a greyish brown denim messenger bag. Back-tracing her steps to the bed, she halted and stared at the thick volume, a hand twitching nervously against her leg. Then, with a choppy movement, she unzipped the bag and put the book inside.

With jerky fingers she hurriedly let her hair down and pulled them up again in a loose ponytail, not bothering to tuck back the couple of locks that fell out of place. A gentle brush and a sudden, familiar warmth against her leg made her look down. A small smile chased the unease from her face. The female blanket-back German Shepherd glanced up at her with dark, chocolate-brown eyes. Morgan dropped down to sit on her heels and buried her hand in the large animal's black-and-tan plush coat, enjoying the softness that met her fingertips.

The dog scooted closer, nudging the teenager's hand once. Morgan complied with the subtle request and continued to stroke her sleek fur. At long last, when realisation of the time finally caught up with her, she got to her feet in a sharp motion, making the graceful canine back-step.

"Come on, Gioia."

The call was all it needed to send the dog bounding eagerly after her master as the girl swept the messenger bag and her mobile phone from the bed, striding out the door. They dashed down the stairs, the German Shepherd hot on the young gymnast's heels.

"Alice, we're off," Morgan announced, poking her head through the kitchen door before heading to the front entrance. Once outside, girl and dog swerved around the silver Mazda parked in front of the house and set off at a jog.

xxxx

Twenty minutes later the two of them made towards the park nearby, Morgan getting comfortable on a bench while Gioia lay down at her feet, panting. The teenager lost no time, taking the purple volume out of her bag and starting to flip through the pages with anxious eagerness. The sky had turned a murky blue, but the lamps on either side of the bench shone brightly, providing with enough light for her to make out the letters on the page.

"Isn't it a bit dark for reading outside, Morgan?"

The girl's eyes snapped up from her text, pulse racing. It was a moment before she found her voice. "Not yet, Mr Dawson." She managed to offer the tall, suited man a brief upturn of lips, noting the amused look in the businessman's gaze. He gave her a smile that reached his dark eyes and inclined his head in farewell before continuing on his way. Morgan watched him as he disappeared into the distance and then turned her attention back to the big tome, heart hammering.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The sound of a bell carried clearly through the air, its continuous ring shrill and loud. The school building it came from could be described as impressive: massive and boasting five floors, built in Neo-Gothic style with a brick-and-terracotta exterior that made for an imposing work of architecture befitting the oldest high school in Toronto.

The vacant hallways that criss-crossed its interior started filling with students as soon as the high-pitched ringing died out. The distinct sound of opening doors was immediately muffled by the wave of cheery voices that flowed out from every classroom, rising up to travel fast to every silent corner. There was no doubt what that loud and lively buzz of activity meant; classes were over for the day.

The crowd occupying the long corridor lined with rows upon rows of lockers wasn't a small one. Freshmen and seniors alike, all jumbled together in a boisterous mass that talked and laughed and gossiped. Energetic and vibrant despite the wearing periods that had preceded the last bell's discharging call, they conversed amongst themselves animatedly as they pulled books out of their lockers and other supplies away.

Standing in front of her own locker, Morgan frowned at the hand still brushing the open door. She shook her head in exasperation. The spark of static she'd thought she'd seen crackle from under her fingertips had been just a figment of her imagination. Her mind often played such tricks on her recently, ever since the incident with Judd. She hadn't seen much of him these past two days. Contrary to her fear, she hadn't received any weird glances or caught secretive whispers aimed at her from anyone, and that put her worries to rest. After some thought, she had realised that what she had believed she felt that evening after practice was simply a psychosomatic reaction to an awful headache. All those instances of static sparks were due to her dry hands – she really _did _have to pay more mind to moisturising lotions. As for her mad impulse to consult a physics book for answers... what had got into her?

A friendly tap on the shoulder drew her back from her weaving thoughts, landing her back to reality and the babble that went on around her.

"Hey." It was Ashley. The blonde waited for Morgan to acknowledge her presence before continuing. "How'd the last periods go?"

"Nothing special," Morgan answered while automatically closing the door of her locker and hoisting her bag on one shoulder. She joined her friend in the throng of students that flocked towards the school's main doors, pushing the distracting thoughts to the back of her awareness. "But we did have entertainment between classes," she continued. "Will reading Poe's _The Black Cat_ out loud."

Ashley snorted a chuckle.

Picturing the scene again, Morgan had to admit it had been amusing: she and her classmate Rebecca Pearson walking to their next class while Will Eckhart trudged along, reading excerpts from a booklet and snaking his way through the packed corridor at the same time. Poe's little morbid piece had affected her the first time she read it three years ago, making her dread the darkness that came every time she decided to close her eyes that night after finishing it, but since then, that first impression had toned down considerably.

"It seems that you had a better time than I did," Ashley commented as her stifled chortle died. "I had to endure almost half an hour of Victoria moping and complaining to Christy about how she should have been elected head cheerleader." The blonde rolled her eyes, her tone one of distaste.

Morgan simply nodded, a hint of amusement showing on her features. It wasn't hard to imagine Victoria Wilson react to the fact that she wasn't going to be the new head of the cheerleaders.

"You know I'm not a fan of that whole cheer business," Ashley went on, "but I think Marge really deserved the position."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed, bringing to mind the mental image of the curly-haired redhead who had just been elected the new leader of the school's cheer squad.

They stepped out of the building and into the courtyard, walking along one of the cemented pathways that ran through the patches of neatly trimmed grass and bare earth. Around them people weaved their way towards the street, while others hung back to meet up with friends.

"Still, I'd like to see _them _try to pull off a full routine on bars," Ashley was quick to add with an almost savage satisfaction in her tone and eyes.

"Huh." Morgan only snorted in response, a glimmer of disdain flickering in her eyes.

"Says the National gold medalist on Uneven Bars," her teammate teased. Receiving no further verbal reply, she turned to face her friend, following Morgan's gaze to pinpoint what had caught her attention. After a quick look, she shifted her focus back to where she was walking, a smug expression on her face.

"Falling for Judd, are we?" she shot smartly the instant her friend averted her eyes from what she had been watching.

"What? No." Morgan was is no mood to keep up with Ashley's teasing. Gaze fixed ahead, she didn't see the sandy-haired teenager trail her with his eyes from where he sat with his friends.

xxxx

The faint smell of wet earth still lingered in the atmosphere. Walking towards the first empty bench in her path, Gioia by her side, Morgan's eyes half-closed as she breathed deeply. The early-afternoon Thursday sun shone through the trees planted in the park, falling on the free strands of her ponytail and dying them auburn.

Something bumped against the teenager's shoe, making her pause in her tracks. She looked down to see a red toy car. Nearby, a dark five-year-old gave her a guilty upturn of his lips, remote control in hand. The ghost of a smile played on Morgan's lips at his look, but the boy had already flicked a switch, and the car was trudging back to its owner. He picked it up, then ran off.

"Gillian, catch!"

Morgan didn't have time to step out of the way. The yellow shape that came hurling out of nowhere was mere inches from her. One arm bolted upwards to shield her face, her eyes shut tight and she tensed up, bracing herself. The only pain she felt was Gioia's leash cut into her palm when her hand jerked to establish a better grip on it, the German Shepherd retreating a couple of steps a her owner's sudden movement. When Morgan lowered her free arm and opened her eyes again, she saw the ball hover unsupported in the air for a full heartbeat before it dropped to the ground, suddenly heavy as if it was lead.

The little girl with copper-golden hair near the teenager had her own arms still up, the laughter caught in her throat, her eyes wide. Some metres away, her sister watched in equal stupefaction. Silence settled about them, thick and unbroken, until the girls' mother jogged up and swept her twins away. She herded them off the park quickly, passing a lean red-haired woman who stood watching. Morgan blinked and looked around her slowly. The boy and his mother had also vanished, leaving her alone. Still feeling a cool sensation in her stomach, she paced mechanically to the bench and sat down, heart thumping wildly in her chest. She had definitely _not_ imagined _that_.

In her stupor, she felt Gioia nudge her gently. She absently reached down to stroke the dog's thick coat.

"Are you all right? You look pale."

The slim woman with the dark red hair had taken the initiative to sit on the same bench. Lying down at Morgan's feet, the German Shepherd perked her ears up and rose slightly from the ground, body tense.  
The teenager wrenched her gaze from the spot she'd been staring at and turned to look at the woman, her vision focusing. Wordlessly, she moved her body slightly away, the distance between them increasing by a hair's width. Then, a swishing sound made her look elsewhere sharply.

A can of Coke hovered in mid-air, a few inches from her and the woman's face, its brown liquid trail frozen behind it. In the distance, a gang of young teenage boys scowled at them, the smirks wiped from their faces. They wheeled around and disappeared.

Morgan watched in stunned silence as the can lowered itself slowly to the ground, the woman's palm facing it, her gaze locked on it. The redhead glanced in the direction the boys had vanished to, shaking her head slightly. Beside her, the teenager ogled at her. The woman turned to face her.

"My name's Jean." When the girl didn't move or respond, she smiled. "It's all-right. What's your name?"

The teenager contemplated the stranger before opening her mouth. "Morgan."

"That's a lovely name for a girl."

Morgan shifted in her seat. "My mum was an English Literature professor – the Arthurian legend was her favourite."

xxxx

"_You know, there is a school where people like us can learn to control their powers."_

Morgan gave her head a brief shake, positioning herself at the end of the runway. Taking a breath and flexing her feet, she broke off at a run.

Springing from the board, her hands touched the vaulting table for less than a full second before she was in the air again. Her rigid pose was maintained for a moment, then her hips bent as she reached the peak of her flip. Body folded at the waist and arms kept in check near her torso, she completed a half-twist as she began tracing an imaginary line to the ground. As soon as her feet hit the mats, her balance evaporated. The tremor of the impact shook her, making her fall backwards into a sitting position. She breathed a huff and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her gaze went to her hands, a pensive expression on her face. After a moment the teenager shook her head again, pushing herself off the polyethylene material and striding once more towards her starting point.

xxxx

Shaking her hair out of its neat arrangement, Morgan left her gym bag at the side of the bed and flopped onto the mattress, face down. A small tendril of pain travelled up her spine as she lay there, eyes closed, the day's tiredness making itself fully known. The teenage gymnast remained motionless, savouring the quiet moments of blissful relaxation that followed. Opening her eyes at long last, she pushed herself off the bed and went to her desk. She found the purple tome in the last drawer and picked it up, taking in the designs on the cover as she lowered herself on the mattress again.

She turned a page, scanning the index before pausing and closing the book with a thud. Swiftly, Morgan reached for the little magnet she kept on her desk. She fixed her eyes on it, waiting. A moment later, she huffed at the absurdity of her notion, almost laughing at herself – what did she think she could make happen? The previous day that American doctor, Jean, had said she was a mutant, but she couldn't even figure out what her power was.

Shaking her head, Morgan put the magnet away and began brushing her hair. She pulled a face as the brush worked through the tangles, feeling the build-up of static. It was as though she could almost hear that ominous crackle of sparks, like a physical small weight pinching her head.

xxxx

The steel-grey Land Rover purred into an easy stop. The young man behind the wheel killed the engine and got out of the car, locking it and heading towards the house. Crossing the garden, he took the steps leading up to the porch two at a time and gave the woman waiting there a quick peck on the cheek.

"Hey, Alice," he greeted his stepmother fondly, face smiling. The woman returned the smile warmly and kissed his cheek, her dark, honey-brown hair and smooth features belying the forty-five years she had behind her.

"How are you, Neil, dear?" she asked, stilling the water-can clutched in her hand.

"Good. For once I've no projects for the weekend," he replied. "Dad and Morgan?''

"Your dad's still at work. Morgan's up in her room," Alice answered, receiving a nod from her stepson before he disappeared inside the house.

xxxx

Morgan sat on her bed, propped up comfortably against a pillow, a French textbook in her hands. She laid the thin volume down to scribble something in a notebook, then picked it up again. A few moments later, when she raised her eyes, she nearly choked on a sharp breath, her heart racing painfully. In the fraction of a heartbeat it took her to blink, her brother, who had a mere split second ago stood beside the bed, was sprawled on the floor. Morgan thought she saw the air around him quiver, like a sudden wave of heat distorting the atmosphere, but her fright drove the ridiculous impression from her mind.

Neil stared at his sister, hazel eyes dilated. "What was that?'' He finally found his voice, a note of shock tinting it.

"I don't know." Morgan's voice was small and she fidgeted, averting her gaze.

After what seemed like an age, her brother blinked. "It's..." He trailed off.

"I'm not sure," she managed to say. "Telekinesis, maybe?"

Neil gave his head a shake. "I felt a jolt, as in electricity. I'd say force field."

Morgan jerked her eyes up and was stunned to see her older brother smirk at her expression. She watched him carefully for a few more seconds. "It could be," she mused haltingly at long last. When Neil simply sat in silence, she bounded off the bed and hurried to retrieve the purple tome she had again stashed away in the desk's drawer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Seems you were right," Morgan looked at her brother. "Faraday, Maxwell and Newton _do_ have the answers."

Almost a whole day had passed since Neil's thought concerning force fields, and the siblings were sitting together on Morgan's bed. The door had been closed shut, and the open window offered a majestic view of a sky soaked in brilliant tints of orange and red.

When her brother's expression urged her to continue, the teenager sat up straighter. "I think I can sensethe elementary particles around me, manipulate their force fields. What happened with that boy from school the other day, that was because of an electric field. I must've ionised the air near both me and him, so there you have a bunch of ions repelling a structure with the same charge.

"In the park, that must've been gravity, reducing the gravitational pull of that ball.

"And what happened to you yesterday, that was magnetism. Those electrons freed by ionisation can be propelled along a specific trajectory if their kinetic energy is large enough, creating a magnetic field. That magnetic field can propagate towards a specific target, and if the target is negatively charged it can be deflected." Morgan paused, her face flushed a warm pink and eyes shining. "The shock on impact is because of the electric current induced by the moving electrons." She waited for her brother to speak.

"You've just made the force fields in science fiction movies seem a whole less cool," Neil laughed.

The corners of Morgan's lips curved upwards and she raised her shoulders. "It's all based on science," she said. "That's some really amazing stuff, physics."

Neil watched her, registering the excitement in her voice. "Did you ever consider becoming a physicist?"

A lopsided small grin settled on his sister's face as she mulled over the question. "I think I'd actually like that."

Neil smiled at her, and then his expression turned serious. "What about Dad and Alice? Are you going to tell them?"

He wasn't talking about her future plans and Morgan's mood cooled to match his. "Do you think they'll be OK with it?" The uncertainty in her voice was almost palpable.

"Dad's a doctor. If _he_ can't understand..." Her brother trailed off. "Anyway, you won't know until you tell them."

Morgan drew a heavy breath.

xxxx

When they descended the staircase into the living room a while later, they found John Hemmett sitting on the sofa, Alice resting her head on his shoulder.

He huffed at the newspaper he was reading. "Gormless idiots," he muttered as he set it on the coffee table, jolting his wife slightly.

With deliberate slowness, Morgan approached and seated herself on the second couch near them, turning to face them. She let a few moments pass in silence before finally speaking. "I have something to show you."

She had spent the last hour and a half talking with Neil, discussing the best way to go about breaking the news to their dad and foster-mum. After they had reached a decision, she had begun practising trying to use her powers at will. It wasn't an easy feat, she had discovered.

Now, trying to not let the enquiring gazes unnerve her, Morgan stared at the small vase on the coffee table, fingertips pointed at it. She concentrated, feeling a weak flutter in the pit of her stomach. The vase rose teetering upwards and then sank back to its previous place. The teenager lowered her hand slowly, looked at the flowers for a drawn-out moment and turned.

Her father's hazel-blue eyes were fixed on her with penetrating intensity and he was as still as a statue. In those long, silent seconds he stared at her, Morgan felt she could hear her heart beating. She had thought Neil sitting beside her would be comforting, but all she felt was a knot in her stomach.

At long last, John Hemmett blinked and his face relaxed. "Amazing."

Morgan felt as though her heart had returned to its rightful place.

"How long have you known?"

"Six days." The teenager looked at her stepmother next.

Alice was gazing at her thoughtfully. It was some time before she spoke. "Be careful, Morgan." Her voice was laced with caution. "You know many people will single you out because of this."

Morgan took a breath. "I met a woman the other day," she began. "She's in Toronto for a medical conference; she said she works at a school in the States where kids can learn to control their mutation."

Alice gestured towards the vase. "That didn't look as though you have no control, sugah."

The teenager shook her head. "It's more complicated than that – there's electric and magnetic fields, too. I haven't got round to completely figuring out how everything works yet." She paused, then plunged on, "If anything happens and someone gets hurt because of me..." The sentence was left unfinished, but the note of dread in Morgan's voice was clear.

xxxx

The fifteen-year-old stared up at the glowing green stars on the ceiling as she lay in bed that night. The little display with the vase earlier had appeared effortless, and yet she had struggled for more than an hour practising in her room just to gain a measure of confidence and believe she could make such a thing happen. The vase had wobbled, but given it had been her first time to attempt a feat like that, it was only natural, right? Perhaps she didn't needhelp toget better at influencing gravitational fields, after all. Perhaps if she took it one step at a time...

A little spasm made her mouth twitch. Electric and magnetic fields would be a problem, though – she hadn't even tried to consciously manipulate _those_. If an accident like the one with Neil happened again... or worse... _No_, she told herself. She'd figure things out just as she was now doing with gravitic weights. Still...

She huffed, turning violently onto her side and scowling into the darkness.

xxxx

The redhead telekinetic Jean sat in an armchair, hands resting idly on her lap. Turning at the sound of footsteps, she watched Alice Hemmett as she entered the living room, carrying a tray with four steaming mugs. The woman placed her load carefully on the ornate-legged coffee table, setting each mug on the glass surface, and took a seat on the large sofa next to her stepdaughter.

"Morgan told us this Institute is in New York." John Hemmett addressed the red-haired woman in the dark skirt suit sitting across from him.

"Yes, in Westchester County," Jean returned. "I believe I might have a leaflet with me."

She reached for her handbag and searched through it for some moments before finding what she was looking for. Snapping the bag shut, she offered John Hemmett an inconspicuous pamphlet. The Englishman accepted it and granted its exterior a thorough glance.

"We keep the true identity of the school secret, for obvious reasons," Jean went on as Dr Hemmett started examining the contents of the leaflet. "The children attending continue their education normally, whether that is primary or secondary, and at the same time learn how to accept and control their powers."

"It almost sounds surreal," Alice commented as her husband pored over the booklet. "A true sanctuary." She lapsed into brief silence. "Ms Grey, how long will you be staying in Toronto?"

"Unfortunately, I'm leaving tomorrow," the telekinetic answered. She was quick to continue speaking, understanding the older woman's reasons for asking. "Of course, if Morgan decides to attend the school, she can come whenever she's ready."

Alice gave a tiny nod. Her husband passed her the leaflet and she began reading in earnest.

John Hemmett turned to the red-haired woman. "The Xavier Institute certainly seems like a very promising place, Ms Grey."

Jean smiled. "It is," she replied truthfully. "The school is a safe haven for all the pupils." She looked over at Morgan in polite enquiry.

The teenager inhaled. "It does sound like a great place, a safe environment..." She trailed off, running a hand through her hair.

xxxx

Twilight had woven its dark veil outside D.J.'s grill and salad bar, creeping into every hidden niche and corner, chasing the last feeble remnants of light away and bringing a frosty chill along with it. The skies above hosted a grand conversion of charcoal clouds, heavy with thunder and rain. The downpour that smacked hard onto the window panes had started about ten minutes before, a torrent of pelting waterdrops that forced all living souls into seeking the comfort of indoors.

Inside, the small bar was warm and cosy, the heaters along the walls working full time. Tables were spread on the tiled floor in front of the long counter, arranged in a way that made the room appear spacious. The walls were painted a neutral off-white, currently taking on a yellowish tint under the lighting. An upbeat tune poured out from the stereo in the corner, its cheery notes defying the rough weather outside. The bar's occupants – a scarce population at the time – leaned comfortably into their chairs, chatting away and warming themselves over a mug of hot beverage. D.J. himself, a dark-haired, burly man in his mid-thirties stood behind the counter, his light blue eyes and ever-smiling face keeping track of all the comings and goings.

"New York?" Holly looked at Morgan thoughtfully.

The fifteen-year-old shrugged. "Well, that prep. school's really good; a family friend recommended it." The lie she had been practising came out more smoothly than she had expected. "They say the physics professor's one of the best. And that teacher I got to meet the other day, she got me thinking. The idea of going Ivy League is kind of growing on me." That much was true.

"I knew you loved physics, but not that much." Ashley cocked an eyebrow. "And you don't have to go to _that _school to go Ivy League." She paused for a moment. "And why on earth would you think about retiring just to go to a fancy prep. school in the States? You placed third in Junior Nationals All-Around this summer: you got gold on Floor and Bars; you're turning Senior. Why not wait and finish high-school here and _then _consider retiring?"

"I haven't decided _yet_," Morgan reminded her, registering the soundness of Ashley's arguments. "I'm still thinking about it." There was a small silence before she continued, "Well, whatever happens I _am _staying for the Invitational."

xxxx

Morgan tossed and turned in bed. Even though it was well past midnight, sleep evaded her. Her mind worked frantically, millions of thoughts whirling in her consciousness. She needed rest, her brain ordered – the following day was going to be a long one.

Turning, her eyes found the black silhouette of her desk chair. In the darkness, her gaze fixed on the clothes laid carefully on it: black warm-ups with bright green wraparound side swirl piping and the letters _SGA _on jacket and trousers. She watched them for several dragging seconds before letting out a frustrated breath and staring up at the ceiling.

xxxx

The stands were filled with people. A constant murmur echoed throughout the large gym, rising into cheers of applause when the competing gymnast followed through a complex series of moves successfully and then dropping to a gentle hum that was drowned by the upbeat music.

Chloe was on the uneven bars. Body fully extended, she gained momentum and swung around the apparatus in full circles, toes pointed and legs stretched. Releasing her hold on the high bar, her body began to turn upside down in a fluid motion. She rotated backwards in a double straight somersault, both feet slamming hard against the blue mats on landing. Her knees bent momentarily as the impact sent strong vibrations of imbalance up her spine and then she straightened herself, arms extended above her head.

Amidst the praising applause of the spectators, she walked off to where her teammates and coach waited, grinning in satisfaction as the score board showed a gratifying result. Mark Trevorn nodded his approval briskly, granting her a rare smile as the rest of the girls congratulated her more warmly, and then motioned to Morgan.

She had already got up from her seat, adjusting her hand grips as she walked towards the uneven bars. She stopped at the container holding the chalk, lowering her hands into it and coating them in a layer of fine dust. Shaking the excessive amount off, she stepped onto the mats, once again checking her hand grips. Taking a breath, she turned her back to the apparatus and raised her arms overhead in salute to the judges. At a subtle sign from them, she swerved round and jumped upwards, grasping the low bar firmly.

xxxx

"So, you've made up your mind, then?"

Morgan looked up at her brother and nodded once slowly. "If I don't learn how to properly control this and something happens, I'll never stop thinking about the _what ifs_."

Neil studied her, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Fair enough. You know best."

xxxx

Morgan slid her hands into the pockets of her dark khaki-green winter coat, seeking protection against the chill wind that picked up. Even though the garment reached well below her hips, warming her, the cool air still bit at her face. She tried to disregard it, eyes looking forward as she walked on slowly. Scattered autumn leaves crushed under her boots until her feet came to a halt before a solemn grey tombstone. Her eyes fixed on the name etched onto it: Silvia Guardi-Hemmett. She stood in front of it, watching it silently for a long minute before reaching to touch the cool surface. Then, she dropped her hand and turned on her heel, heading towards the car waiting outside the graveyard.


End file.
